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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328657">No One's Home at Vault 111</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor'>Goodneighbor_Neighbor (Fan_by_Proxy)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commonwealth Canons (Yvette) [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crying, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Trauma, graphic descriptions of death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:55:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The plans for breaking into the Institute are messy and complicated, especially given the Railroad's exceedingly limited resources. To try and prevent at least one kind of catastrophe, Tinker Tom suggests a massive coolant system. There's only one place in the whole Commonwealth that might have the kind of tech they need, and as much as the Sole would like to avoid it, sometimes you have to go back to go forward.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Hancock &amp; Female Sole Survivor, John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commonwealth Canons (Yvette) [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Before the Trip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning: decay and grief are pretty viscerally graphic things, so if you're not in a place to handle that kind of descriptive trauma, skip chapter 2 for sure [or skip this one entirely, there's no shame in it]</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A break had to be coming, Hancock thought to himself, as they crossed the bridge going into Sanctuary. He hadn’t ever been this far up before and it was a little unsettling to see how many shells of houses were still up and house-shaped. It was probably <em>because</em> it was so far out, he realized as a laser-musket toting man greeted them enthusiastically. Hancock watched Yvette hug him, saw the man’s cheeks darken at the contact; he couldn’t help but snort.</p><p>“Preston, do you know <em>Jean</em>?” She said, stepping back to gesture at Hancock. “<em>Jean</em>, this is my friend Preston Garvey; he is the heart of the Minute Men for this place.”</p><p>Hancock saw his cheeks go even darker. “C’mon, beautiful, you’re gonna pop his head off with embarrassment.” he stuck his hand out.</p><p>Preston coughed, shifting the grip on his weapon to shake. “Hancock, right? Goodneighbor’s mayor?”</p><p>“The one and only.” Hancock replied easily and shaking his hand brusquely. He stepped back then to let Yvette finish her introductions; it was funny to hear her give out the fake names and nicknames as easy as she came out with his, less funny to watch her smile that million-megaton smile and hold her shoulders back that hard. For probably the hundredth time since they’d started the walk up this way, Hancock wondered if maybe Cait hadn’t been right that night, if maybe it <em>wasn’t</em> time to call it quits. It was one thing to go hunting an asshole; that was a basic Tuesday in the Commonwealth. Going into the Glowing Sea, that would <em>normally</em> be the end of the line for most people--even just the <em>idea</em> of it would be enough of a stop. But now they were going to Vault 111, for some data and equipment that none of them knew if it even worked properly, because those screwballs with the Railroad were as gung-ho to get someone into the Institute as could be.</p><p>It was a bad combination, he thought: the screwballs with their pretty-alright tech man and the determined-to-be-unstoppable gal from the past--same end goals but the reasons were so far apart they didn’t even stand on the same planet. Hancock sighed; he was about half-convinced that <em>maybe</em> synths--not the assholes who were trying to replace people, just the ones who were trying to be free--deserved the chance. Yvette had pointed out that the ones the Railroad helped were as fearful and wanted as much freedom as the next guy in the Commonwealth. It was the fear thing that really stuck out to him; wanting was easy but fear meant you had at least a bare minimum of something to lose. Yvette was always throwing out sympathy…not a totally misguided kind of sympathy, like the occasional whack-job that thought you could re-tame a Feral or something, but the kind that always pushed for a solution besides ‘shot the shit out of it until it stopped moving’. He could get with that kind of compassion for the most part...but none of that meant he was at all on-board with this plan, and if he wasn’t sure she needed him (if she hadn’t told him with the exact words ‘please <em>Jean, </em>I need you with me’), Hancock sure as shit wouldn’t be this far out of his territory and looking to plunder a Vault-Tec grave.</p><p>His smoke and reverie were interrupted by a familiar grating voice. Hancock squinted, noting the yellow hat and trench. “Vault-Tec guy! So this is where you wandered off to, my man?”</p><p>“Mayor Hancock.” the Ghoul replied drily. “I didn’t <em>wander</em>, I was invited.” he said haughtily as Yvette came over with her customary cheek-kiss greeting before linking arms with him. “I manage the trade post here.” he added.</p><p>“Poaching my people now? Low blow, beautiful.” Hancock teased.</p><p>“I did not do that.” Yvette replied with that shining smile. “He is a man with <em>decades</em> of sales experience, I needed to make good trade for Sanctuary so I offered to him the job, and he accepted. We are old friendlies, after all.”</p><p>Hancock snorted. “Just don’t make a habit of it.” he teased.</p><p>The Vault-Tec Ghoul shook his head and turned a little more towards Yvette. “I have the numbers from the last month’s trades for you, but uh…did I hear it right? You’re going back into Vault-111?” he asked.</p><p>Yvette’s smile dipped, just a little. “<em>Oui</em>!” she said a little loudly. “My friends are very interested in trying to recover sciences notes? To perhaps make some sense with them? Our Vault is not so well-known, so it is not so plundered cleanly, I think.”</p><p>“You uh…you think I could go up with you? I still haven’t seen a Vault--I mean a real one, not one of the displays.”</p><p>Hancock frowned. The hell kind of question was that?</p><p>Yvette bit her lip. “I will warn you, it is…it will not be clean. I am sure, after all of these time, that…things will have um…they will have…” she faltered. The reality of the state of the Vault was going to be <em>impossible</em> to ignore after tomorrow, was already verging on impossible at that moment. “I am the only one to walk from it. I was not the only person inside of it, does this explain, Paul?”</p><p>The other ghoul winced. “I uh…that’s a very good point. I could still walk up there with you, though!” he offered. “Honestly, just getting past the gate without being shot would be…well it’d be further than I’d gotten.” his laugh was more of a ragged bark.</p><p>Yvette forced the smile back. “Actually, that would be quite helpful? You of course will be familiar with how to operate the lift system, yes?”</p><p>“Of course.” Paul said proudly. “If it’s Vault-Tec, I…well if it’s anything to do with the structure and recruitment, I know it.” he shook his head.</p><p>She patted his arm. “I know; you were not sciences, and you are not at fault. We will walk up there early tomorrow, and if you will work the lift for us, keep your hearing out for troubles, it would be a <em>tremendous</em> help for me. And if it is not…if things are better than I think they are down there, and you would still like to see, then yes you will see.” Yvette watched his face; the years of ‘blood and dirt’ had given the poor man a deep cleanliness complex that she couldn’t fault him for. And if Paul stayed topside and operated the lift, the small crew from the Railroad wouldn’t have to split off, which would make Desdemona happier in report.</p><p>“Can-do, Ms. Yvette.” Paul nodded firmly. “You know, the construction of the downward lifts for Vault-Tec are actually <em>pretty</em> interesting…” he was falling into the spiel as easily as a Mole rat burrowed through loose dirt.</p><p>Yvette gave Hancock a tired, slightly exasperated look and a little head shake before turning her attention back to Paul. Hancock had to give it to her; no doubt she was glazed-over and not paying one bit of attention, but she looked just as pretty and captive as could be. He wondered if that wasn’t another thing she did to hide, like the megaton-smile; Hancock hadn’t seen it on full-display <em>this</em> hard, since she tended to be very honest about when she was done listening. There was always something new to learn about her, he realized, even after all this time. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to catch a wink from Garvey.</p><p>“If you don’t mind, we could use a hand with this generator.” he said.</p><p>Hancock snorted, but slid away from the monologue he’d heard-and-not-listened-to ten thousand times before easily.</p><p>“I figured you could use an easy out.” Preston said apologetically. “No saving the General though, but I guess she doesn’t mind.” he said with a shrug.</p><p>“General?” Hancock raised a brow.</p><p>Preston cocked his head. “You know, the General. There aren’t a lot of Minute Men left in the Commonwealth right now, but even if there were, she led the assault on the Castle and restored our radio service--that gives her the right to the rank.”</p><p>Hancock blinked. “What now?”</p><p>“She didn’t say?” Preston shook his head. “Mirelurks had overtaken the Castle, set it up as a nesting ground…there was even a <em>Mirelurk Queen</em>.” he explained. “But half a dozen of us and the General, we managed it.”</p><p>“Huh.” Hancock rubbed his chin. “That explains <em>a lot</em>--no wonder she gets so vicious with’em when we’re near the water.”</p><p>“I can’t blame her. Once you’re knocked into a nest and they all start hatching…” Preston shuddered.</p><p>Hancock winced. “<em>Yeah</em>.” He followed Preston around the corner of one of the houses; most of its larger holes had been repaired with tin and wood, and someone had managed to get enough paint to make it all one color. It was damn near picturesque. “Been busy up here, I guess?”</p><p>Preston nodded. “Sanctuary is pretty established, all things considered. Paul might be a little…<em>odd</em>, but he <em>is</em> really good with the traders, and everything that’s still standing had pretty good supports; just needed some help and attention. The ground’s good, the water’s better with the big purifiers going…it’s good.” he couldn’t help but repeat. Quincy had been good too, before things went wrong. But the chances of that happening <em>here</em>, in Sanctuary, were slim-to-none. The General had the kind of right-and-wrong sense that no matter what happened, Sanctuary <em>wouldn’t</em> be another Quincy; Preston had faith in that.</p><p>“You alright, man?” Hancock asked; somebody dropped that many ‘goods’ in a sentence, it usually meant they were trying to scam you. Yvette had said once that sometimes it meant the opposite, that shit wasn’t <em>actually </em>good but not in the scam sense--part of that psychology stuff she’d gone to school for back before the world blew up. She had a knack for talking with people and seeing right through them that he had to respect, so Hancock had started paying more of <em>her</em> kind of attention to things. So far, she hadn’t been too wrong.</p><p>Preston looked back over his shoulder to see if the General had gotten free of Paul’s Vault-Tec rambling; it didn’t seem like she had, but he still dropped his voice. “Is it true? You’re going into Vault-111 tomorrow?”</p><p>Hancock nodded. “Yeah. Something about tech or equipment, I dunno. I’m just along for the ride.” he shrugged through the lie.</p><p>“If the General says she can handle it, I’m sure she can, but…” Preston trailed off. “I mean is it really <em>necessary? </em>How’s it going to get her son back?” he asked, because he had to.</p><p>The worry on his face said everything; Hancock nodded. “I’m with you, alright? I think it’s about as dumb as walking into a Raider den unarmed…but the eggheads she’s got with her? Say it’s important and it’ll help. I don’t get it,” he shrugged, “but I’m not here to get it. Just here to…ya know, have her back.” he explained.</p><p>Preston took a deep breath. “Someone’s got to. The General hasn’t been back there since she came out of it, I don’t think. She doesn’t even really go to that side of the street when she’s here.” He said.</p><p>“Me and her, we’re good friends--she’s not going down by herself and if I gotta drag her out…” Hancock shrugged again. “She ain’t that heavy.”</p><p>Preston nodded. “That’s…well it’s not all good to hear but you know what I mean. How long do you think you’ll be in Sanctuary?”</p><p>Hancock lit another cigarette. He was going to need a whole brand-new carton before they got back to Goodneighbor if the stress didn’t let up. “Eggheads’ll probably get what they want and go pretty quick. If she needs some time to get moving, then we’ll take it.”</p><p>"There’s a shelter behind that house,” Preston pointed, “the mostly-blue one, next to the wild hedge? The General stays in it when she’s here.”</p><p>Hancock squinted, counting the houses. “I’m not seeing it.”</p><p>“It’s a low-entrance; the shelter itself is underground. I think she said it was for storms, not bombs.” he explained.</p><p>“Alright. But just on the off-chance she <em>doesn’t</em> wanna be underground, any other good spots?” Hancock asked, trying to minimize the sarcasm. Where she stayed when she hadn’t been off doing the hardest shit was one place, but he had real strong doubts she’d want to be under the dirt again after tomorrow, at least for a while.</p><p>“Um…” Preston frowned, thinking. “The first two houses you come up on after the bridge, we’re using for housing. There’s room in them, if it’s just temporary.”</p><p>And full of people. Hancock shook his head. “You know what, let’s take it down a notch. Just gotta see how the high goes, right?”</p><p>Preston squinted at the ghoul, cocking his head. “I don’t follow you.”</p><p>“Never mind.” Hancock replied. “I’m gonna go see if Paul’s done, see about getting her to sit down a second.”</p><p>“Right.” Preston said slowly. “Good luck with that.” he added, with more confidence.</p><p>Hancock snorted. “<em>Thanks</em>.” he threw the still hard-eyeing Minute Man a wink and strolled out from behind the building. Getting her to sit down would probably be easy; getting her to take anything in though? Doubtful. But at least he’d snuck in a few extra hits of Med-X for the occasion; get her to sleep through the worst of the feels, talk out the rest. That was the system--<em>their</em> system. Probably not the healthiest, Yvette had said once during one of his bad nights, but effective enough. He rolled his shoulders and slid his hands into his pockets for the picture of nonchalance…for her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Down Below</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The way she’d grabbed him when the lift shuddered to life, Hancock knew he’d have some wicked bruises for the next few days. He’d felt like an idiot trying to tell her ‘it’ll be ok’ when she buried her face in his neck, but what else was there <em>to</em> say? What else was there <em>to do</em> but wrap his arms around her, try and block the eggheads’ line of sight with his back while they went down? This was worse than the Glowing Sea because she knew what she was walking into and he didn’t, instead of the other way around. There was no way for him to try and get ahead of the freak-out and no Nicky Valentine on the other side to bridge the conversation between way-back-then and now. It was just them, and the eggheads, and the rush of stale air that left a rotten, sweet aftertaste in the back of the throat.</p><p>And the radroaches, because <em>of fucking course</em> there were radroaches.</p><p>Once their group had dispatched the batch of hissing assholes, Yvette had led them through the creeping corporate maze and the eggheads had gotten all excited and started trying to crack the case. Tinker took a couple of huffs and then glued himself to the terminal. Hancock had no idea when she managed to slip off, because he was <em>sure</em> he’d been pretty vigilant, but it was a there-and-then-not moment that had him ready to yank the eggheads around to go looking for her. If he wasn’t relatively confident that the vault only had so many places to be, he would have. But it wasn’t a sprawling janky construct like 88 or 81; he would just have to be methodical and keep an eye out for more fucking radroaches.</p><p>When Hancock found her, he couldn’t help but hesitate. Her low murmurs and loud sniffing echoed through the room, and when Hancock peeked around the edge of one of the tubes (studiously avoiding the mistake of looking <em>into</em> it this time), he saw her at the end of the pathway with her hand on the glass face of a tube, clearly talking to it. This was it: the place, the man, the start of everything for her. For a moment--a very brief, shameful moment--he thought about turning around and leaving. Upright, see-thru coffins and squabbling eggheads he could deal with; but <em>if</em> Hancock walked down those steps and <em>if</em> he made it to the end of the path where she was standing, there wouldn’t be any way for him to avoid putting a real face on hallucination that was (mercifully) staying quiet for the moment.</p><p>And, Hancock thought very quietly to himself, if he walked down those steps to be with her…it would be to <em>be</em> with her; that the closeness that had come around in jokes and flirtations, in bandages and bullets, in music and wine would carry so much regret with it because it would be <em>love</em> and there would be nothing he could do with or about it. Somewhere behind him, someone whispered ‘<em>selfish</em>’ and he sighed. So much for <em>quiet</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I am close, <em>mon porte-bonheur</em>.” Yvette whispered. She heard the heavy heel-strike of Hancock’s step. Of course he would notice she was gone, and come to find her. He was <em>such </em>a dear, sweet, mess of a man who never gave himself the credit he gave others. Standing in front of Martin, she realized with an almost surprising ease that she had in-fact fallen in love with Hancock; that it wasn’t the easy, non-committal kind of falling-in-love she did with nearly all of her friends. Standing there in front of Martin, barely keeping her head above the grief, she realized that Hancock--with his wit and his charm and his addictions and his temper--now lived in the same part of her heart that Martin did. While the two were so very different in their approaches to life, they brought her to the same deep, disastrously intimate feeling. “<em>Jean</em>…would you like to meet my husband?”</p><p>Hancock heard the crack in her voice, determinedly watching her face instead of looking just a little bit to the right. Her cheeks were <em>so</em> pale, the end of her nose <em>so</em> red, and like always those hot Atomic Blues™ cut right through him. “Gave me a scare, beautiful, wandering off like that.” he said softly. “Catching…catching the old man up?” Hancock’s knees nearly gave out at the warmth that came off her grateful little smile, even as her lower lip trembled.</p><p>Yvette nodded, holding her hand out to him. “It has been a busy time, after all.” she was choking on the words, choking on the snot and the tears that wanted to rage forth as she struggled to hold them back.</p><p>He took her hand immediately, stepping closer until there wasn’t room for another person between them. Steeling his nerve, Hancock finally looked up to meet the man of his nightmares.</p><p>“<em>Martin</em>, <em>Jean</em>. My friend…my very dearest friend. <em>Jean</em>? <em>Martin</em>…my husband.” Yvette realized her fingers were making the glass fog up. It didn’t feel that cool to her touch, but maybe it was just enough that they were underground and she was burning up with grief.</p><p>The old man wasn’t looking good at all; maybe it was because of the ice stuff, but Hancock was pretty sure ‘gray’ wasn’t natural. Even ferals that had been hiding out for a few decades didn’t turn that color. There were patches of black along his neck and the bullet hole in his forehead was a bleak, dark hole that still didn’t manage to detract from the monstrously slack thing his face had become. Mouth gaping, eyes open and rolled back to see nothing, and scars upon scars upon scars. Hancock knew it was from a bad accident with power armor, knew it had nearly killed the man, but somehow he still didn’t expect to see a regular guy looking that…well…ghoulish, for want of a better term. And he was <em>massive</em>; even slumped down like he had to be, the man didn’t leave a lot of wiggle room around him. Hancock wondered what he’d looked like when he was fresh, an idle thought that was interrupted by the idea that if he didn’t drag Yvette away, didn’t make her look at something nice right that second, that <em>that</em> was what she would see when she closed her eyes and thought of him…and Hancock didn’t want that for her. “Well…he’s seen better days.” He said, regretting it <em>immediately</em>. Once again, his mouth was <em>miles</em> ahead of his brain and anything resembling common sense. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words stalled.</p><p>Yvette nodded, unbothered by the observation. It was true, and coming from Hancock, she could trust it wasn’t anything cruel. “I think…I think perhaps with the Vault in this state, it cannot…it will not hold anyone for much longer.” she said softly; it was someting she’d realized as soon as they had reached the bottom and the stale mechanical air of the Vault carried that undercurrent of sweet nausea. A now truly-inescapable fact that was just as true now as it would have been before the bombs.</p><p>Before he could answer, one of the eggheads called from the doorway.</p><p>“There you are! Whisper, we’re really struggling with the case on the Cryolator and Tinker’s ready to break out the Psycho-Buff-Jet, do you wanna try before he winds up destroying the whole damn place?”</p><p>Normally, he was more into sticking people in a surreptitious way, real sneaky and sly, but if ever there was a moment when Hancock wanted to just open fire on someone, that would be the moment. Who looked at a couple of stone-cold silent people in a tomb and figured yelling across the damn place was the way to deliver any kind of news?</p><p>Yvette sighed. “Like wrangling children.” she murmured, stretching a little bit more to reach higher on the glass. “I love you.” she whispered before letting go of Hancock’s hand to walk away briskly.</p><p>Hancock hung back just a second, to watch the outline of her hand in steam and water droplets fade on the glass. It was like something out of a sadder copy of Live&amp;Love except even in those, the one left behind eventually opened back up to love. He sighed. “You were one ugly, dumb-lucky sonofabitch. I hope you knew that, Marty.” Hancock said very quietly. He could hear a commotion in the distance; if Tinker had tried the old 1-2-3 combo, there was no telling how many pieces he or the lock-box were going to be in. He turned away from Martin and started to make his way back towards the room with the terminal and the Cryolator, counting on finding Yvette working her magic with pins and patience the way she always did.</p><p> </p><p>Instead he was passed by an enraged Yvette and nearly trampled by the trail of eggheads chasing after her. “What the <em>hell</em> is going on?!” Hancock demanded, nearly losing his balance for trying to make such a fast heel-turn.</p><p>“She got the case open!” Tinker called back helpfully.</p><p>“I can <em>see</em> that!” Hancock replied, squeezing past the group to get a couple of steps ahead and throw his arms out. “Hold on a <em>goddamn</em> minute!”</p><p>“We <em>need</em> that artifact!” someone said.</p><p>“Look, do you guys <em>know</em> where you are?” Hancock looked back over his shoulder; Yvette was almost to the end of the walkway and Martin. “Give her a goddamn minute, ok? Just a goddamn minute to do whatever it is she’s gonna do, and then the shit’s all yours, alright?” he managed to back down the stairs into the room without falling. Yvette, meanwhile, had reached Martin’s tube and hit the switch next to it; Hancock turned just in time to see the lid release and the small wave of <em>fluid</em> eek out onto the floor. The sickly-sweet rot smell of the room got worse, and he couldn’t imagine how she was handling an absolute face-full of it the way she was. Then she started firing.</p><p>Hancock heard the protest behind him and felt someone knock into his back. He threw his weight backwards to push them off, turning on the group. “One. <em>Goddamn</em>. Minute.” he snarled, not hiding his teeth the way he normally would. Let them be scared of the closer threat instead of the one that’d actually fuck them up. Clearly none of them had ever run with her before, if they saw <em>that</em> look in her eye and still thought about getting close while she was armed. Then again, he <em>had</em> run with her, and he <em>was</em> going to go closer.</p><p>Yvette was rocked back on her heels, back braced against the tube behind her, gun bouncing in her hands as a steady barrage of snowballs pelted the body. Hancock heard the crack as whatever liquid still remained started to freeze and break and freeze again; the new cold didn’t do shit for old Marty’s posthumous pallor and for a weird, idle moment Hancock wondered if the old boy would just shatter if something hit him hard enough. Not that <em>he</em> would do something like that, but one of the bulkier, icier snowballs coming out of the behemoth in Yvette’s arms might make it happen.</p><p>Yvette fired on the corpse, ragged sobs gurgling in her throat even as her eyes remained painfully dry. She could taste and smell and <em>feel</em> the rot of the Vault all over and while the rational part of her mind knew this was a stupid, pointless move…finally seeing, finally <em>knowing</em> without a shadow of a doubt that Martin was <em>gone</em>--had been gone, would forever <em>be</em> gone--had carved such a deep wound in her heart that it felt like she was dying. From far, <em>far</em> away, she could hear Hancock.</p><p>“Yvette? Beautiful? It’s ok. He’s iced. He’s iced now, you can stop.” Hancock murmured, standing to the side of her and reaching out very slowly to try and take the weapon. “We’ll close the lid, and he’ll be iced, and it’ll be done.” He continued to talk low, trying to soothe her like he would any of the strays that hung around Goodneighbor. When something was hungry, or scared, or both, keeping it low and sweet usually spared a fight. “Lemme have the gun, beautiful. Let’s give it to the eggheads and then take you home.”</p><p>Peeling her finger off the trigger and letting the gun drop into Hancock’s waiting hands felt like failure. She felt like she was coming apart at the seams; when it happened at the edge of the Glowing Sea, she’d started screaming and kept screaming even as her friends dragged her back to relative safety. Now there was just her, and <em>Jean</em>, and miles upon miles of dirt over their heads, and she was just so <em>tired</em> and so <em>hurt</em> and it was just…too much to deal with. Yvette watched the cryo-chamber close, watched Martin’s face disappear behind foggy glass, and was dimly aware of Hancock’s commanding tone. It wasn’t directed at <em>her</em>, she realized, because then it would be in her ear. He must be turned the other away, Yvette thought, trying to buy her a little privacy because he was a good man like that; a good friend who didn’t cower away from the hard moments. Sometimes Martin had cowered, but then he had his own grief and rage to parse through, his own ways of dealing with it; maybe better ways, since his emotional turns very rarely resulted in screaming or weapons discharging.</p><p>“See? He’s safe. Let me take you home, beautiful.” Hancock continued to murmur as the tube closed over and Martin’s grim state was hidden again. He touched her hand, wincing as her fingers dug in as she gripped it; he was <em>definitely</em> going to have some kind of bruise in just a little while. “Come on, beautiful, that’s my gal.” Hancock dragged her arm across his shoulders and wrapped his other arm around her waist. If he had to drag her to the lift and back to Sanctuary he’d do it; if he had to drag her ass all the way back to Goodneighbor, he’d…well he’d try.</p><p>Cigarette smoke and the sharp sugary smell of grape Mentats warred with the rot and sadness in her nose; Yvette wondered dimly if her nose was bleeding, it stung so much. Her eyes were <em>so </em>painfully dry. She should blink, but then if she did and the dryness lessened, she would <em>see</em> the Vault and its halls and the faint outlines of <em>that</em> day and the day after it, and Yvette was not ashamed to admit to herself that she couldn’t see it all again. Didn’t want to, couldn’t handle, would <em>never</em> want to ever again.</p><p>Hancock glared at the eggheads, daring any of them to say a word as they eyed Yvette from the corners of their eyes. The lift shuddered and squealed as they ascended, making it easier for no one to say anything for the noise. Once they reached the surface though, Tinker was the one to brave words.</p><p>“We’re gonna get this stuff back to Dez right away,” he said, “when you guys can, meets us at the Plains, yeah?”</p><p>Hancock nodded. “Be there, maybe a week?”</p><p>“Cool, cool.” Tinker twisted his fingers, cracking the knuckles. “Whisper? Hey girl, hey…we’re gonna get your boy back. This, <em>this’ll</em> do it. You’ll see, Tinker Tom’s gonna put this shit <em>together</em>.” he said, trying to still the twitches for just a second; not for shame but because Dez was always on him to present his ideas with a lot less flair and he really wanted Whisper to share the faith.</p><p>Yvette nodded. “I hear you, <em>Thom</em>. Thank you.” she managed to get out just as the Vault-Tec Ghoul reached them.</p><p>Paul had thrown himself out of the security trailer as soon as he’d seen their heads clear the surface; seeing Yvette’s gray face and Mayor Hancock’s arm around her the way it was, he was damn glad he hadn’t gone down. “Miss Yvette!” he called, ignoring the twitchy mechanic; the guy had seemed nice enough the evening before <em>but</em> his friend (and she was his friend, she had already said and proved it so!) was in rough shape.</p><p>Yvette shook her head at him. “You do not--you do not want to go--you do not--” she couldn’t make the words come out in any sense.</p><p>Paul didn’t think he’d ever seen someone look that bad, save for himself when the pieces started falling off as he’d gone Ghoul. It wasn’t his usual MO, but when a lady looked that bad, it was up to the man to do <em>something</em>. So Paul threw his arms around her tightly. “Don’t you worry, Miss Yvette. We’ll lock the gate behind us, and none of us will bother coming back this way. It’ll be like the place doesn’t exist.” He felt her nod, a tickling little brush on his cheek from her hair. Paul pulled back slowly. “Here. Here, I’ll take your other arm, and we’ll walk down together.” he said, taking her wrist and dragging her arm across his shoulders, sandwiching her between himself and the Mayor. It was a bold move, but he hadn’t made his career being timid! Well…completely timid, anyway.</p><p>Hancock wasn’t that keen on the assist, but if Yvette wasn’t shrugging Mr. Vault-Tec off, then he supposed he would just have to tolerate it.</p><p>Yvette caught her breath as they made their way away from the Vault, trying to focus on the smell of dust and growing things, even that constant low note of <em>different</em> that separated now from back then. She dug her heels in at the end of the bridge on the Sanctuary side. “I am ok.” she lied. “I am ok.”</p><p>Hancock didn’t buy it for a goddamn minute, keeping his arm around her waist even as the other Ghoul let go.</p><p>“Paul, my friend, will you do something for me?” Yvette asked, hating the thickness in her throat. “It is so very important.”</p><p>“Of course, Miss Yvette, what can I do?” Paul said immediately.</p><p>“Go to Sturges. Go to him, and tell to him that…that the last house is to be pulled down. I do not care how much of it is sturdy, or that it can be salvaged. Tell to him that it must be all brought down.” Yvette swallowed. “I will make up with him, if it is good construction I am asking him to help take down, but…but the last house must come down.” she repeated.</p><p>He nodded. “I’ll tell him right away, Miss Yvette. You just…you don’t worry about it. I’ll tell him, and I’ll see it’s done.”</p><p>She nodded. “You are a good friend.” Yvette patted his cheek. “Ask him if he will start it after I leave.”</p><p>Paul nodded again, and offered Hancock a curt nod before turning away. The sun was still shining and he could get to the Red Rocket and back before things got too dark and ugly.</p><p>Hancock tightened his grip around her waist. “Your place?”</p><p>“Hurry please.” she whispered, feeling the tremor in her thighs.</p><p>Hancock didn’t waste time or breath giving an answer that wasn’t his feet moving. They could cut behind the houses, including the still-wrecked ‘last house’ that he now realized had to be her old one, and miss seeing most of the faces in Sanctuary. Then he’d hit her with a full needle and drop her into bed to ride out the worst of the worst feeling. He didn’t need Nicky Valentine’s help; just a clear path and a plan.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Then After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What Hancock hadn’t counted on--hadn’t even <em>thought</em> to expect--was her crying in a drugged sleep. The few times he’d had to pop her this hard, she’d gone still and quiet; barely even snored until her system was mostly clear. It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever seen her cry before; she was pretty free with the feelings, a quality he’d found himself liking more and more the longer they ran around together. But the fact she <em>should</em> be out, <em>should</em> be in that dark, dreamless kind of sleep, but she was still sobbing…this was officially worse than the VFW and the Glowing Sea together. All he could really think to do, after watching her for a while, was to kick off his boots and take off his hat; ditch the jacket and crawl into the little twin bed with her.</p><p>Hancock drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, the back of her head against his mouth. It might cost him a couple of teeth later if she woke up startled while he was spooning her; but maybe in that awful place where she couldn’t get away from crying, she’d at least feel like she wasn’t totally alone. That was something they had in common, he realized as her warmth started to seep through his clothes. It wasn’t exactly a fear of being alone with themselves, it was that being alone with memories and guilt and grief was too much. It was just <em>too much</em> to deal with. He let himself kiss the back of her head, ignoring the faint whiff of Vault 111’s nightmare odor. If he fell asleep--and Hancock doubted he <em>would</em>, but he’d been wrong before--and she woke up first, she wouldn’t be <em>alone</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Yvette struggled to open her eyes; her cheeks felt raw and the pillow under her cheek felt as though it had been lethally starched. She wound up using her fingertips to first massage her lids and then finally prying them apart carefully. Her whole face felt cold and swollen and <em>raw</em>; as if someone had taken a box grater to it. Her whole body was stiff and she was only managing to breathe through her open mouth. Never again, Yvette promised the dirt walls and the painful pillow; <em>never again</em> would she set one toe in Vault 111. If Desdemona’s team needed more data, more time to scrounge and search, they could take themselves or fuck all the way off.</p><p>As the world around her became more and more solid as the last traces of miserable sleep and narcotics faded away, Yvette realized the small bed was just that much smaller and she was relatively warm for being underground without a blanket. “<em>Jean</em>?” she whispered, tasting a little copper on her tongue and wondering how much loud crying she had managed to do to wreck her throat so, even in a stupor. When he didn’t answer, she very gently worked his fingers apart and wormed free of his grip. It was funny to sleep with another ‘close-sleeper’ when she herself tended to latch onto whatever was nearest; however they woke up together usually signaled who had gone to sleep first. A gentle spoon meant Hancock had waited and then curled up with her; otherwise he was subjected to the kind of crushing pile-on normally reserved for pillows and teddy-bears.</p><p>Yvette took a shaky breath, looking back at him. The certainty that she did indeed loved him welled up in her chest again, though without as much of the enormous weight of guilt that had come with it when she felt it earlier. He wasn’t a <em>replacement</em> for <em>Martin; </em>aside from a ferocious loyalty and tremendous kindness shielded by bluster, the two weren’t really anything alike. No, Yvette thought as she eased off the little bed to get a can of water off the shelf to rinse her face and her throat with, falling in love with <em>Jean </em>Hancock had simply been one of those accidental little things. As she watched him sleep, Yvette wondered if there would ever be a time to tell him.</p><p>If Tinker Tom was successful with the plans, and she reached Shaun and brought him back, they wouldn’t come back to Sanctuary; there was nothing for either of them there. Diamond City had a school, and she had bought a space to live there, but Hancock wouldn’t be welcomed there. She couldn’t see bringing Shaun to Goodneighbor until he was older, mostly because there wasn’t any schooling and it was delightfully raucous at night. If she told Hancock she loved him, and in some strange turn of fate, he answered back with love…what could they do about it? Even worse, if she told him that and he did not answer back the same…</p><p>Yvette finished the can and set it down lightly. There was no point in chasing that thought in circles right now; not while the grief was raw and Shaun was still so far away. No, Yvette told herself as she sat back down on the bed and continued to watch Hancock sleep, the feelings were not yet so inescapable that she could not keep them to herself. She would simply have to be careful and not let the wrong words slip out in one of their quiet, intimate moments. Yvette leaned down and kissed his cheek, then his temple. Then she laid down, wiggling back against him and wrapping his arms around her again. He didn’t need to know that she loved him yet, or that she had managed to shrug off the chems first. All he needed to know for the time being was that she was <em>so </em>very glad he was in her life at all. That would be enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Grief is just so weird, the way it swings around and makes some things really super clear and other things not so much. Up until this point, my Sole pretty much wrote off any romantic inclinations as just a thing that happens when you make a really good friend (I'm demi and honestly that's just my life, most of my friends I wouldn't ACTUALLY date but I'm a little bit in love with all of them for the reasons that we're friends :D) , and now it's just like "yep this is just a concrete fact that I do not have time to do anything with". The upside of writing my own romances is that it doesn't end with awkwardness or disappointment :D</p>
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